


Can't Save Us

by xvoided



Category: The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Russian Roulette, Sad, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, clumsy Thomas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-06-10 08:12:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6947011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xvoided/pseuds/xvoided
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thomas would never shoot Newt, not in any circumstance, not in any shape or form no shucking way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can't Save Us

**Author's Note:**

> *** takes place somewhere in the death cure but also could possibly take place in the scorch trials it's fully up to you *** 
> 
> so, lots of foreshadowing to the... occurrences... that happen in the death cure so be aware

“It’s just a little  _ game _ !”

_ A game _ , Thomas thinks to himself. A  _ game _ was something he defined as fun, but this? Yeah, not the type of amusement he particularly prefers and as he sits in the almost pitch black cellar this clique of cranks dragged the gladers to with the exception of some “mood lighting” as Minho had called it, he was starting to question which cranks were the most dangerous - the ones who were so close to being completely past the gone that they thought Russian Roulette was a  _ fun game _ , or the ones that were fully past the gone and attacked every wiff of movement they caught. He’s also starting to realize a very blatant pattern which consists of him really not ever being able to catch a shucking break.

“A fun game! We all like games, don’t we?” one of the cranks snickers much too ominously for Thomas’ liking at the rest, for which they all blare toothy grins.

“Well go on fairy princess, pick up the shiney and get this on the road!” one croaks out and Thomas looks down at the revolver which he assumes is considered the “shiney” although it looks pretty rusted to him that sits in the middle of the table and he doesn’t know if he’s fairy princess or Newt is. To put it lightly though, Newt looks more of a fairy princess than Thomas does. 

“Listen, we’ll give you whatever you want. We don’t have much but we will offer up everything we have.” Newt says steadily and Thomas finds himself closing his eyes, the gash on his head where one of the cranks had slammed a wood plank into to make him sit down starting to throb more than gently. 

“What we want,” one starts off, his repulsive body heat moving towards Thomas, “is yer purdy boy head to be shot right between der eyes. Clear?”  _ Was that even English? _ Thomas wonders because at the moment, he kinda forgets what proper English sounds like. 

“Thomas, I can’t do this.” Newt whispers to him and he opens his eyes, his vision blurred for a moment. He finds himself looking up to Minho and Frypan who stand off to the side in the middle of two cranks, both bearing pathetic forms of weapons. He looks back to Newt who bleeds concern, literally and figuratively from a little gash under his eye, and that look makes him realize he needs a plan. A pretty shucking good one. 

“Follow my lead.” Thomas says although slightly being unsure of what his lead actually is. He looks up to Minho rather subtly and looks between Minho’s eyes and the weapon that a crank clutches and Minho more or less nods without it being too obvious and nudges Fry, most likely passing the info onto the cook but Thomas can’t watch him do so without it looking suspicious. Newt nods at him and sits straight up in the chair as if he’s ready to be a sacrifice and Thomas wants to scream because if anyone was going to be a sacrifice, it sure as shuck wouldn’t be Newt. Thomas reaches for the revolver, taking a deep breath in before clicking off the safety. He knows what he’s going to do. He knows that he will aim the gun at Newt’s brow. 

“It’s okay.” Newt says and swallows harshly, clamping his eyes shut and a sob escapes Thomas’ throat without meaning to. There’s movement in the corner of his eye and he thinks Frypan has turned away. He lifts up the gun and it won’t keep steady in his grip because of how much he’s shaking and his middle finger is on the trigger. He lets out a breath. 

“It will never be okay.” Thomas says and he curses at himself because what kinda pathetic last words are those? Although he’s pointing a gun at a person who may be his only friend, he knows he won’t shoot Newt. He won’t shoot him. He focuses his eyes on the wall just above Newt’s head and he pulls the trigger and this time, the universe is actually allowing him that break he so desperately needs because nothing comes out. Newt closes his eyes tighter as the revolver makes a loud clicking noise and Thomas wonders if Newt knows yet that Thomas didn’t shoot him. 

“Blondy’s turn now.” A crank orders and Thomas nearly throws the gun down on the table, just needing the so called shiney object to be out of his hands. 

“Did he shoot him?” Thomas hears Frypan ask in a whisper but he can’t listen to the response because he’s too focused on the utmost disappointment in Newt’s eyes when he opens them. Had Newt wanted to be shot?  _ No way _ Thomas thinks because Newt - Newt’s the glue in this operation. Thomas would never shoot Newt, not in any circumstance, not in any shape or form no  _ shucking _ way. 

“Bloody hell.” Newt mumbles, his hands shaking as he reaches for the gun. 

“Newt, I don’t want you to worry, okay? You just shoot and-” But Thomas is literally cut off by the sound of the gun going off. He flinches back so violently he almost falls off his chair and he has yet to figure out if he’s happy at Newt for not second-guessing himself or downright insulted.

“I’m sorry. I just didn’t want you to expect it I thought that’d be better.” 

“That was smart.” Thomas breathes out, absent mindedly clutching the fabric near his chest. He nods not only to Newt but to himself as though he needs satisfaction as well. 

“Thanks, Tommy.” Newt says, his voice shaking and uneven. 

“Sparse over here is gonna be writin’ ya a poem, aren’t ya Sparse?” a crank laughs, slapping the one beside him on the shoulder. Minho, obviously not liking the idea of a cranky poem, reacts almost in synch with Fry, elbowing the two crank guards in the noses and stealing their weapons. Newt reacts quicker than Thomas and is already out of his chair, standing in front of Frypan and Minho, threatening the cranks that aren’t moaning in agony on the floor with the revolver. 

“Don’t follow us.” Minho tells them, yanking Thomas up by the collar of his shirt because  _ oh right _ , he forgot to do that by himself and he wonders if the dancing black spots on his eyes were always there or are they a new thing. Thomas stumbles over his feet and mindlessly wraps his arms around Minho’s torso in means to balance himself. Everything suddenly happens too quickly and all at once and Clint appears out of absolutely nowhere, and then they’re running and as soon as they hit sunlight, Thomas can’t help himself from collapsing towards it. 

 

 

“You just had to go ahead and collapse just as we hit sand, didn’t you shuck face?” Thomas doesn’t even have to open his eyes to know that’s Minho and frankly, he doesn’t really want to. His head throbs as if it’s been hit with eighteen sledgehammers and he doesn’t want anything more than to just curl up into a small ball of limbs and stay like that until he eventually just disappears into a black abyss of painless nothingness. 

“Yeah, it looks a little infected. I don’t have enough supplies with me to treat it properly.”

“I’m fine.” Thomas merely groans, pushing up on weak elbows.

“Well goodmorning, princess. Have a nice nap?” Minho asks and Thomas clutches the side of his head, cracking open an eyelid to stare at Minho who hovers over him.

“Yeah, Minho. Yeah, I did thanks for asking.” Clint shoves a dusty water bottle in his face and Thomas is more than grateful to chug the liquid down since his throat feels like it hasn’t had moisture in decades. Newt filters into the area which Thomas notices is just another abandoned building, and kneels down beside him. 

“Can you give us a moment, guys?” Newt says and Minho nods, slapping Newt on the back before standing up and leading Clint around a corner. Thomas looks over to Newt as he fiddles with a piece of paper he holds in his hands. 

“I wasn’t going to shoot you.” Thomas says, staring worriedly at Newt who sits back onto his butt. 

“It wouldn’t be your fault if you did.” 

“Well, I didn’t, Newt.” Thomas says in a more aggressive tone than he means to. He wasn’t ever going to shoot Newt and if Newt even thinks for a second Thomas would ever do so, then Newt is crazy. 

“I wrote this for you and only you. It’s not for Minho, it’s not for Frypan either, okay? And you have to promise me you won’t read it until you know the time is right.” 

“What are you talking about?” Thomas asks but his voice his weak because he understand what exactly Newt is telling him to do, but the why part is missing and isn’t connecting. 

“Just promise me, okay?” Newt says, giving the note to Thomas. Thomas nods as he looks down at the tattered paper, then back up at Newt. 

“I promise, Newt.” 

**Author's Note:**

> so that's the end. that's all there is. 
> 
> as always, i love your feedback. lots of love.


End file.
